On Being a Cliché
by Lavinia Swire
Summary: "Teddy, what are you doing here? I know it's not just to lecture me about smoking and to pretend to have an opinion about art." TeddyDominique, Next-Gen Armada fic #1


**My first fic for the Next-Gen Armada on the NGF forum. Massive thanks to _keep my issues drawn_ for the beta!**

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Dominique's little flat was almost foggy with cigarette smoke when Teddy called round.

The first thing he noticed when she opened the front door was the colour. The navy and emerald and lime jumpers (all far too big and baggy for her tiny frame), the red and gold Gryffindor scarf, the rainbow fingernails.

"What happened to the black-on-black look?"

"It's no fun being a cliché; nobody takes you seriously. Come in."

The second thing he noticed, when he stepped through the doorway, was his lungs closing off from the air that seemed to be at least half ash. Coughing and spluttering, he rushed into the kitchen to open a window, took a second to gasp in some fresh air and then turned to gape at Dominique, who was standing unapologetically in the kitchen doorway with a cigarette in her hand.

"Merlin, Dom, what are you doing to yourself?"

She didn't answer for a second. Her shoulders looked pointy, Teddy thought – her oversized cardigans shrouded her – and her skinny fingers and paper skin looked almost ready to break and rip. But her eyes were still the same as always, soft powdery green like sea-glass.

"I'm living my life, believe it or not. And you can tell that to Mum or Dad or Vic or whoever it was that sent you here."

"I'm not here on anyone else's behalf. Dom, this place is a tip."

She didn't answer, and Teddy wasn't even sure that she had heard him. She looked as much of a mess as her flat did. Her nails were stained nicotine yellow under the rainbow polish, she had dark circles under her eyes and her tights were so ripped that Teddy wasn't sure how they were managing to hold together.

Taking a drag on the cigarette, Dominique looked up. "Do you want a drink? I've got wine, and I might have some old Firewhiskey somewhere, but I can't remember. Oh, I forgot – you don't drink properly, do you? Don't worry, I've got apple juice too."

He wasn't completely sure if she was mocking him or not, so he settled for giving her a slight glare and turning away to search through her kitchen cupboard, which held more paint and turpentine than it did anything edible.

"Can't you shut that window, Teddy? It's fucking freezing." Dominique had flopped into the scruffiest armchair known to humanity – it was apparently being held together by hope and a few scraps of wood – with smoke twisting in the air above her head like dull paint in water.

Teddy ignored her request. "What happened to your coffee addiction?" he asked, still rifling through the cupboards for the tub of Nescafé that had to be in there _somewhere_.

"I gave up caffeine. It's bad for you," she deadpanned.

Teddy rolled his eyes. "Smoking's worse, especially that Muggle crap. I thought you'd given up."

"I did give up. You know that if I say I'm going to do something I always do it. But I got bored without it."

Teddy had found an almost empty pot of decaf at the back of the cupboard (he decided not to look too closely at its use-by date) and two fairly clean mugs. He pointed his wand at the kettle, which obligingly filled itself from the tap and then sprang onto the stove.

While Dominique's eyes were fixed on the coiling smoke above her head, Teddy glanced around the kitchen. It was chaos – paints and inks and canvases everywhere, paint palettes being used as ashtrays, almost no food at all. Some of her own paintings were propped against the walls, huge canvases with bright colours splashed all over.

"They're abstract." She had seen him looking.

"They're nice," he said rather lamely.

"Teddy, what are you doing here? I know it's not just to lecture me about smoking and to pretend to have an opinion about art."

He sighed. "You didn't come to Louis' birthday party."

"He's fifteen, not four. I'm sure he survived."

"He still wanted you there. And you haven't seen your parents in Merlin knows how long. When was the last time you came to a Weasley family do?"

He had meant the question to be rhetorical, but she thought about it seriously, tapping her cigarette on the arm of her chair.

"I suppose it must have been Grandma and Grandpa Weasley's wedding anniversary. Not the most recent one, though; it was the one before that, because I was still living at home then."

"It's been sixteen months."

"Counting the days, Lupin? You really must miss me." There was only sarcasm in her voice.

"We all miss you," he said quietly. "Won't you come back, Dom? You're a Weasley. You shouldn't –"

He wanted to say that she shouldn't be on her own in Muggle London in an ugly flat with ugly circles under her sea-glass eyes and ugly nicotine stains on her skin. But her eyes were so big and she smelled of jasmine underneath the smoke and he couldn't say it.

"You should be back with us, with your family."

"You aren't a Weasley."

He pushed a hand through his hair in desperation. "I'm the next best thing, and you're deliberately missing the point."

She breathed out grey mist and unfurled herself from her chair.

"That reminds me. Congratulations. About your and Victoire's engagement. I'm sure you'll be very happy together – isn't that what I'm supposed to say?"

Teddy almost dropped the tub of coffee he was still holding. He had no clue how to respond to her. _'Who told you?' 'Do you care?' 'I'm sorry.'_

He settled for, "Are you pleased?"

He knew how sheepish he sounded, and he busied himself with the coffee to avoid having to look at Dominique's face – her expression was unreadable, though she pinched her cigarette a little more tightly between her thumb and forefinger. Her lipstick had made a dark red smudge on the chalky paper.

"I think you're insane, if you must know. And I don't think Victoire would thank you for convincing me to show up on the big day. Don't make that face, Teddy, I know that's why you're here. Trust me, she'll be perfectly happy with me staying away, otherwise she'll only worry that I'll somehow find a way to ruin everything."

"Would you?"

"What do you think?"

There was a long silence.

"Dom, I wish you'd stop smoking."

She exhaled slowly as the corners of her mouth curled mockingly upwards.

"Oh Teddy, I didn't know you cared."

He gently took the cigarette from her. Her hand was freezing.

"Of course I care, you idiot." And it seemed the most natural thing in the world to take her hand in his, to try and transfer some of his warmth to her. "You're so cold."

Dominique gave a weird laugh that, if he hadn't been looking at her, he might have thought had been a sob.

"Everyone says that."

"Everyone is not Victoire, and Victoire is not always right."

There was a long silence. The two coffees were sat steaming by the kettle.

"If it makes any difference, I _don't_ think you'll be very happy with Victoire."

And then suddenly she had moved, and her mouth was on his. And maybe he was half-drunk on the smoke and the paint and the rainbow chips on Dominique's yellow fingernails, but he was kissing her back without being quite sure how or why. She tasted of ash and lipstick and her skin was papery, and it ought to have been deathly. But he could smell her jasmine perfume, and her free hand was gripping his shoulder, and, fuck, she was _Dominique_, and compared with sweet soft gentle Victoire she was terrifyingly alive.

Abruptly she pulled back. She had dropped her cigarette on the tiled floor while she was kissing him, and now she ground it under her foot.

"I'll give up smoking. If it means that much to you."

Teddy blinked. "Seriously?"

"When I say I'm going to do something, I don't back down."

Teddy was still holding her hand, and for a loose second he wondered if he was going to end up being a replacement for her cigarette addiction, if he wasn't eventually going to hurt her even more than the nicotine and smoke stains had. Or maybe she was bored again, as usual, and this was all a game for her, because where Dominique was concerned you could never be quite sure. Then again, when she pulled him towards her, tangling her thin fingers in his hair, he kissed her again. He didn't think about Victoire, didn't even consider that maybe he _ought_ to be thinking about his fiancée, instead of her little sister who was messing up his morality. But he was concentrating too hard on Dominique's cold hand in his and her red hair under his fingers and the taste of smoke on her lips giving way a little to strawberry gloss and more waves of jasmine.

And perhaps, just perhaps he was going to be the one who ended up addicted, but it was _maybepossibly_ worth it.

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**Please review - I'd love to know what you think!**


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